I drunk octopussed this evening along with Kim Watt and A.S. Akkalon. We live in three different time zones, with Akkalon a day in the future, so it was quite a feat to coordinate live drunk octopussing. Plus, she always has spoilers about what the weather’s going to be like tomorrow and if Jesus is going to drop by.

But that was nothing compared to what the residents of Erin Island have to cope with: fighting off alien octopusses while hammered out of their fecking skulls. (Fecking is deliberate because Erin Island is in Ireland, where ‘fecking’ means the same as ‘fucking’ but isn’t rude and therefore my mum can’t tell me off).

The octopusses are allergic to alcohol (why wouldn’t they be?) The only way to not-be-eaten by them is to drink until you have the approximate chemical composition of a pint of absinthe.

For purposes of this blog, the plural of ‘octopus’ is definitely ‘octopusses’ except when it’s ‘octopi’ and I refuse to be told otherwise.

After a slightly delay when some idiot (me) got the time wrong, Houston cleared us for Octo-off at 8:05pm BST which is the official time zone and no other times should exist because they confuse my little brain.